


In Chambers Secret

by Brennah_K



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-09
Updated: 2012-10-09
Packaged: 2017-11-15 22:46:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/532610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brennah_K/pseuds/Brennah_K
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if the young Tom Riddle, trapped in the diary, had acted more Slytherin-ly when he confronted Harry in the Chamber of Secrets. Italics = Flash back</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Chambers Secret

Smiling in the flickering of candlelight, Tom Riddle trailed his fingers across Harry Potter’s shoulders as he leaned over the boy’s shoulder to read what Potter was scrawling. Even in the dim light, Riddle could see the thick rivulets of tears rolling down his cheeks.

“I see you have nearly finished the page.”

“Y-y-es…M-as-ter.” The once defiant Gryffindor murmured.

Drawing his finger’s through the boy’s curls, Riddle smirked as Potter predictably and pathetically began to tremble.

“Very good” he hissed in parsletongue and used the hair entwining his fingers to pull the boy’s head back, “when you’ve finished, you may rest for the night.”

“Th-thank y-ou, M-as-ter.” Potter hissed in response and skittered his gaze away, cowing from Riddle’s observation.

Riddle smirked as he held Potter’s head back, even tightening his grip in the child’s hair until there was no possibility of it not causing the boy pain, but Potter only arched his neck further, following Riddle’s grip. Surrendering silently to Riddle’s merest whim.

Releasing his grip on Potter’s hair, he allowed the boy to go back to writing. Three short sentences later, Potter dropped the blood quill beside Riddle’s diary, pulled his still-bleeding arm into his stomach, and sank to his side on the cold stones at Riddle’s feet. Potter’s eyes fluttered closed immediately, and he was almost immediately asleep.

It was almost amusing how easily the child had been taken… and broken.

_When Harry glanced up, there he stood, Tom Riddle, a weird, misty light shining around him, not a day over sixteen, twirling Harry’s wand between his long fingers._

“ _Tom, Thank Merlin. I don’t know what’s wrong with her, can…” Harry’s eyes shifted back and forth between the diary and his friend then to Riddle as he went quiet._

“ _Petrificus Totalis!” Tom uttered quietly, smiling as Harry’s arm’s snapped down to his sides. “I see you understand… or are beginning to… yes.” He murmured softly coming behind Harry until he stood directly behind the boy._

“ _Yes, you begin to understand how powerful I am,” Riddle whispered in Harry’s ear as he draped an arm over Harry’s shoulder. “Powerful enough to start feeding Miss Weasley a few of my secrets, to start pouring a little of my soul back into her… to resurrect myself. Funny, the damage a silly little book can do, especially in the hands of a silly little girl. You see, Miss Weasley, there, has been pouring her heart out to me since before the beginning of the school year. Yes, indeed, Miss Weasley was quite the prolific little essayist describing in minuscule detail the most mundane aspects of her life, and for every driplet of ink that she smeared into the page of my little diary, for every tedious wish, every whinging complaint that she invested herself in, I returned a gift of myself- pouring my essence back into her. Even then, it was quite nauseating, really, but young Miss Weasley was to be my means of returning … but, no, I’ll not bore you with such details when there is something that I am certain will interest you the more.”_

_Wrapping his other arm around Harry’s chest, Riddle pulled Harry backwards until the boy was pressed tightly against him, as he murmured into Harry ear, “For you see, though I continued to endure Miss Weasley’s tiresome correspondence, for many months now, my … target… has been you.”_

_Even though Riddle was certain that his casting of the Petrificus had been perfect and that Potter was completely petrified, Riddle had the briefest sensation that he’d felt Potter stiffen under his touch. Leaning close to breath his words into Potter’s pale shell-pink ear, “Oh, yes, Ms. Weasley was quite imaginative story teller. In fact, there was one story, her favorite story, that she repeated for me in great and abundant detail- a story about an infant, a mere infant, who, by some strange stroke of luck, by some random chance, managed to thwart and banish the most powerful wizard of the age, perhaps the most powerful wizard to walk these halls since Slytherin, himself, walked these halls. Perhaps, you’re familiar with the tale?”_

_Twirling his fingers through the boy’s curls, Riddle mused: I’m sure I that I won’t need to tell you who that infant is?”_

“ _No, I’m quite certain that you can guess that ten years later, he came to Hogwarts and until this very morning naively walked the halls secure in the belief that his nemesis was no more. But, could you ever have guessed that this very morning, your nemesis brought that little chit here for the sole purpose of drawing you to these very chambers, these chambers, once walked by Slytherin, himself. Speaking of which…”_

_Raising his voice, Riddle hissed loudly, “Oh, Salazar Slytherin, greatest of the founders, four, speak to your heir, reveal your secrets to the rightful successor.”_

_As he spoke, Riddle pulled the petrified boy around so that he could witness the arrival of Salazar’s prized pet. As the basilisk glided across the cold stone floor, toward the prone and vulnerable Weasley, Riddle whispered, “Miss Weasley was to be my means of returning but as time passed, I came to realize that while she was convenient, having willingly poured herself out to me and accepted my essence without resistance, she was hardly my vessel of choice. No, there was a better vessel available, a vessel of great significance, a vessel perfectly willing to walk right into my lair. I only have one dilemma… though a small one. Now, that I have no further use for her, what should I do with her body? My familiar would certainly enjoy a morsel, but I’ve wondered if I shouldn’t reward her, for bringing you here.”_

_Mitigating the petrification spell, Riddle was hardly surprised when the boy immediately plead for the girls release before the basilisk could harm her… he was so typically Gryffindor in that… and then quickly accepted the bargain he offered. There had been a moment’s hesitation, when the boy’s survival instinct had kicked in, but Tom easily over rode it with a few minor observations._

“ _Come now, Harry. You forget, Miss Weasley, was not the only student to write in my diary. Do you think I’ve forgotten what you wrote about your loathsome relatives when you poured your heart out to me sure that as an orphan myself, I might understand? I can hardly credit your eagerness to return to them, which of course you will if your young friend dies. Or, perhaps you have convinced yourself that your friend of a – whole—entire—year would grieve your loss more deeply than that of his own, flesh-and-blood sister? After all, she’s only a sister. What’s that compared to one’s best mate?”_

“ _No!” Potter cried out._

“ _No?”_

“ _No.” the boy protested weakly as he watched the basilisk scenting the young witch’s body with its flickering tongue. “I-I’ll stay.”_

And stay he did. In return, he released the girl, after obliviating her, her brother, and the professor, replacing their true memories with a farcical, maudlin tale of the boy luring the basilisk away from the witch before destroying the diary, caught in the backlash of its destruction. Knowing how prone the wizarding world was for pathetic heroics, Riddle had sealed their memories off with a melodramatic scene of Potter, too weakened to make it into the outer chamber with his friends before the basilisk reached them, hissing the chamber doors shut between them… before giving a blood-curdling scream.

Of course, he had not informed the boy of the memories he’d released them with, allowing the child to torture himself with the longing hope that the professors or the headmaster or even his friends would try to rescue him. It was a frequent theme as the days passed and Potter performed the only task that Riddle had required of him - pouring his weakening hopes into the diary… knowing that Riddle would be “pouring himself” into him in return, but unwilling, or perhaps, nobly unable to turn his back on the bargain that had freed his friend, particularly as it became apparent that his rescuers were not on their way. Potter had broken himself with his hope and soon surrendered to Riddle becoming a true vessel for all of Tom’s desires.

Staring at the figure curled on the floor at his feet, Riddle mused. One day, perhaps in the near future, he would be out of Slytherin’s chambers, wearing the boy’s body and the boy’s fame, armed with a fantastical tale of battling a basilisk to its death, but until then... there were many, many ways to pour himself back into the boy. A soft amused smile played across his lips as he ran his foot down the sleeping boy’s spine.

“Ha-r-r-y,” he hissed softly, “It’s time to wake up.”


End file.
